


Pack Bonding

by flawedamythyst



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Hawk Clint Barton, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magical Realism, Wolf Bucky Barnes, shapeshifter AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 21:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17231525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: It had taken over twenty years before being a shifter was something Clint felt safe being open about, and he wasn't about to let Bucky Barnes's bad attitude towards natural shifters ruin that for him. No matter how hot the guy was.





	Pack Bonding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Menatiera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menatiera/gifts).



> Thanks to sara_holmes for looking this over for me.

It had taken over twenty years before being a shifter was something Clint felt safe being open about. He’d had too many scars from years of his dad knocking him about any time he found out he’d been in his hawk form, of Barney hissing in Clint’s ear that if anyone found out they’d throw them out, not to mention the wariness he’d developed from moving through a criminal underworld that only saw the profit when they found out someone was different.

It wasn’t until the first time he found Natasha coiled up in her cat form on his bed at SHIELD, giving him an unblinking look of challenge as he froze in place, that he realised he didn’t need to hide any more. He had an ally, and SHIELD had never been as interested in shifters as they were in expert marksmen.

And then the Avengers came together and all moved into Stark’s Tower, and suddenly Clint had more than one ally, and it seemed like he just kept finding new ones. Naturally-occurring shifters like Clint were rare but ever since Steve had become the very first created shifter, the process had been worked on and refined until finding out that the government had used it to enhance Sam’s para-rescue unit hadn’t been much of a surprise.

“Joke was on them, of course,” said Sam, as they all shared a drink one evening, not long after he officially agreed to join the team. He and Steve were sitting next to each other but carefully not touching. Clint was wondering just how long they were going to keep up this pretence of not being head over heels in love with each other. He couldn't decide if it was better or worse than a PDA-heavy honeymoon period. “It’s not like a falcon can carry much equipment, so we all ended up with mechanical wings anyway.”

Clint nodded his agreement. “Right. I had that with SHIELD handlers sometimes. They’d look at my file and their eyes would light up as they came up with stupid plans for me to infiltrate buildings on the wing, and then I’d start pointing out that I wasn’t going in without weapons, and that if they really wanted the computer files I’d need data storage of some kind, and how exactly were they expecting the comms to work, and they’d all just deflate.”

Steve snorted. “They rigged me up a harness to hold my shield, in the War,” he said. “Guess they were lucky I turned out to be an Akbash, and not a smaller dog.”

“I don’t know,” said Tony, thoughtfully. “Can’t you just see Captain America the pekinese, taking out Nazi ankles all over the battlefield?”

“Is that why you never underwent the procedure, Tony?” asked Natasha, taking one of the careful sips that meant she knew whatever she was about to say was going to upset someone, and she couldn’t wait. “Worried you’d come out as a chihuahua? I guess Elon Musk’s shift was a little embarrassing for him.”

Tony sat up straight, slamming his glass down on the table so he could gesture at her. “Elon Musk! You’re coming at me with that asshole? Listen, just because I can afford to become a shifter doesn’t mean I want to. I spend billions on flying suits of armour, and let me tell you now, you can fit a hell of a lot more equipment in one of those than you can slinging it over some animal. No way in hell I give a damn about what animal I might or might not be, but you can be damned sure that whatever I would be would be better than Elon fucking Musk.”

Clint couldn’t stop himself laughing, hard enough to almost lose his balance on the back of the sofa he was perched on. Winding Tony up was always so easy, and so worth it.

“Hey, you musta been enhanced a good few years before me,” Sam said to him, once Tony had finished huffing out his indignation. “Did they know you would end up a hawk? They had some test for us so they knew who’d end up with wings, but it was pretty new.”

Clint shook his head. “I’m not enhanced,” he said. Sam frowned at him, so he spread his arms and grinned. “Baby, I was born this way.”

Sam stared at him. “Seriously? You’re a natural shifter?”

“Yep,” said Clint. “I‘m the original, real thing, and you’re all just cheap copies.”

“Okay, rude,” said Sam as Steve shifted next to him as if holding himself back from defending him.

Clint shrugged. He’d been born as a freak; he thought he could get away with being a bit dismissive towards these guys who had all been adults when they had to work out how to exist as two things, to work out how to move as an animal long after they’d already mastered being a human. None of them had had to work out how to fly at the same time as how to walk, how to talk and which set of vocal cords would let him, all while dealing with his dad’s reaction to having an ‘abomination’ in the house.

Sam glanced around at the other shifters in the room. “But you were both enhanced, right?”

Steve nodded. “Not on purpose,” he said. “Erskine and Howard had no idea that it would be a side effect of the serum.”

“The Red Room knew,” said Natasha. “They didn’t have a test for what we’d become, though.” She hesitated, then added, quietly, “Any girls who didn’t have a useful form were terminated from the project.”

Which pretty much ended the conversation, because no one really knew what to say to that. Clint was probably the only one who knew the reaction she needed, which was to gently tap her with his foot, then press a quick hand to her shoulder. Natasha never got much comfort out of words, which had always worked out well for Clint. He was pretty terrible at coming up with the right ones.

****

Having another bird shifter around was even more fun than Clint would have expected. He and Sam got into the habit of spending hours together up in the skies above Manhattan, soaring over the city. Clint’s hawk shift was larger and faster than Sam’s falcon, but he tried not to rub that in more than four or five times a day.

He found himself missing having a flying companion when Steve and Sam went off on their trips to try and hunt Bucky Barnes down, which pretty much always ended with them coming back looking defeated and depressed. Except for the time when Sam clearly decided to try and distract Steve from their failure by finally putting an end to all the UST, when they came back all over each other, and immediately disappeared into Steve’s quarters for three days.

After that, everyone saw less of both of them, even when they weren’t off chasing Barnes’s shadow. Sam still made time to go flying with Clint though, which was pretty much all he cared about. 

And then one day, Steve and Sam finally came back from one of the trips with a moping ex-assassin in tow. 

Not that that made much difference to anyone, as Barnes immediately shut himself up in Steve’s rooms and ignored all invites to come join the team for meals or other social gatherings, or even just to be introduced to those he hadn’t met before. Not that Clint could blame him. Three days of brainwashing had been enough to make him shut down for a good few months, he shivered to think what seventy years would be like.

It meant he got to spend even more time as a hawk with Sam though, given how busy Steve was with Barnes. For maybe the first time in his life, Clint finally felt like he was getting the balance between his two shapes right.

Some days, like today, Clint just woke up feeling like a hawk. He kicked the covers off and transformed before he’d even blinked the sleep-dust out of his eyes, hopping awkwardly on the mattress for a moment before launching himself into the air.

He swooped around the room a couple of times, letting himself settle fully into the shape, then headed for the door, letting out a shriek that signalled to JARVIS to open it for him.

The Avenger floors all had high ceilings and every room had a couple of perches scattered around, up where only a bird could reach them. It was one of the thoughtful little details that Tony had put in then waved off whenever anyone mentioned it, and that had made Clint prepared to move in with the team as soon as Tony had given them a tour. He knew Natasha thought they should have been warier and taken some time to make sure they could trust the new team before jumping in feet-first, but Clint had known he could trust everyone as soon as he realised that he didn’t have to be the freak around them.

Which wasn’t to say that he wasn’t different. Enhanced shifters never settled as truly into their animal forms as natural ones did. Clint got antsy if he hadn’t been a hawk for a few days, feeling claustrophobic and bottled up until he just had to melt down into bird-form and take to the skies. Natasha, he knew, could go weeks without becoming a cat if she needed to for a mission. Sam had once told him that it took him over a year after Riley died to want to be a falcon again. Clint couldn’t ever imagine stifling half of himself like that for so long.

He swooped through the lounge, silent wings taking him through the door into the kitchen, where he landed on the perch above the fridge. Sam and Rhodey were having breakfast, something with bacon that Clint immediately zoned in on. Neither of them had noticed his arrival.

He shifted his weight for a moment, then took off again, flapping once to gain height before plummeting down on Sam’s breakfast, grabbing the bacon in both talons before pulling up.

“Hey! Asshole!” said Sam, but he was too late to grab it back. Clint was too high for him to reach by the time he was out of his chair, and soaring out the door to one of the really high perches in the lounge. Not that Sam couldn’t reach him there if he transformed into a falcon, but Clint was larger and faster than Sam when they were in their animal forms. They both knew he’d win any tussle they had.

“You dick! I’m gonna remember this!” shouted Sam as Clint landed with his prize.

If hawks could grin, Clint would have sent one his way before starting in on his breakfast.

The elevator pinged open and he twitched his head around. Steve came out, then hesitated when the dark figure behind him didn’t move to leave the elevator.

“We can do this another time,” he said.

The figure shook its head and took a step forward. “Enough hiding.”

Clint shifted around so he had a better view. 

“No one’s judging you,” Steve said, more gently than Clint was used to hearing from him. “And they won’t all be around, you can meet them slowly.”

Barnes nodded with a jerky movement, but his hands had clenched up tight. “Maybe they should be judging me,” he muttered, low enough that Clint barely heard it. He wouldn’t have, if he’d been in his human form, but a hawk’s ears were much sharper.

Steve let out a sigh and put a hand on Barnes’s shoulder. “They should be judging Hydra,” he said. “Which I imagine they all are.”

There was a clatter of plates from the kitchen and Steve ducked his head to look through the doorway. “It’s just Sam and Rhodey,” he said. “You’ve met Sam before, and Rhodey’s best friend is Tony, so if anything, you should be judging him.”

Barnes snorted at that, and allowed Steve to guide him off towards the kitchen. Clint took a moment to consider, and to finish the bacon. If Barnes was looking to meet people slowly, then Clint should probably stay out of the way for now. Especially as meeting someone usually meant having to change back to being human, and he didn’t want to do that just yet. Instead, he swooped to the elevator, grabbing on to the railing inside and jabbing his beak at the button for the roof. Time to feel the wind beneath his wings.

****

Barnes had disappeared again by the time Clint got back to the Tower. He turned back to a human once he was in the gym, but only for long enough to follow his daily work-out routine and get an hour of shooting in. He had to keep himself in condition after all, and it wasn’t as if a hawk could shoot a bow. No matter how many hours Clint had devoted to trying to figure out how that would work when he was a teenager.

He had a shower as a human, then turned back into a hawk rather than pulling clothes on afterwards.

Natasha was warming up as he swooped out of the gym’s showers, and she gave him a nod. “Tony’s talking about movie night after team dinner tomorrow,” she said. “Are you around?”

Clint landed on the back of a weights machine and tried to remember if he had anything in his calendar, then looked up at the ceiling as a signal for JARVIS to help him.

“There is nothing currently in Agent Barton’s schedule for tomorrow night,” said JARVIS, helpful as always.

Clint looked back at Natasha, who nodded and then squared up to a punching bag. “Then be prepared. Tony’s decided we’re drawing lots to decide who picks the movie.”

Clint rolled his eyes. Usually it was Steve who decided they needed to have another round of bonding activities but every so often, Tony got over-excited about being on a team and demanded they all spend forced time together. Clint had a feeling that this latest attempt was related to Barnes’s arrival. 

When Thor had gone back to Asgard and Bruce had decided the whole thing was getting too stressful, and Sam and Rhodey had stepped in instead, they’d had to go through a whole series of ‘fun’ activities, as well as training sessions to settle the new team into place. They’d need to do the same thing if Barnes was going to fight with them, and not just become the Tower ghost.

Given how shy Barnes was at the moment, it was probably a good idea. That was kinda depressing, because if it had just felt like one of Tony’s pet projects that would be abandoned as soon as he got distracted, Clint would have felt completely justified in being difficult about the whole plan. Instead, he was going to have to be supportive.

Ugh, he hated being supportive. He took to flight again, heading for the elevator, which JARVIS obligingly opened for him.

****

Clint didn't feel like being human the next day either, and was still a hawk when it came time for team dinner, finding a perch on the back of a chair and glaring at Natasha until she put a sausage on his plate.

“Seriously, Barton?” asked Tony. “You could try joining in the conversation, you know.”

Clint rolled his eyes at the idea that he couldn’t do that as he was, and gripped the sausage in one talon so that he could eat it.

Barnes had actually made it, sitting on a chair next to Steve with a hesitant look, as if he were one wrong move away from disappearing again. Everyone was doing a pretty decent job of pretending that it was no big deal that he was there so that he wouldn’t freeze up under the scrutiny.

He barely spoke, except to mumble quiet things to Steve on occasion, usually requests for him to pass stuff.

“Okay,” said Tony, clapping his hands once they were all done eating. Clint had migrated to the back of Natasha’s chair, where she was gently grooming his feathers with her fingers because she was the best. Clint was trying hard not to melt into a pile of goo, but it wasn’t easy. “Movie night, right?”

“We do still have to clear up,” said Steve, pointedly.

Tony waved that away. “I have minions for that, just leave it here and they’ll deal with it in the morning.”

“We’ll clear it up now, before we watch a movie,” said Steve, firmly.

Tony let out a theatrical sigh. “Okay, fine, Mom, but can we at least draw first?” Steve gestured a hand to give his permission. “Okay, awesome,” said Tony. “I figured we should do this properly old school, because when I mentioned just getting JARVIS to randomise it, _some_ people didn’t believe he would be impartial, which is just a slur on his honour, seriously, how could you think he’d be anything other than strictly fair is beyond me.”

“It’s because you programmed him,” said Rhodey, helpfully. “And we all know how eager you are to make us watch all kinds of weird shit.”

Tony rolled his eyes, reaching under his chair and pulling out an actual top hat. Clint tipped his head to blink at it.

“Why the hell do you have a top hat?” asked Sam.

Tony gave him a smirk. “I’m a super-rich guy. We get issued them at birth,” he said. “Haven’t you seen the Monopoly guy?”

“I guess that explains the moustache,” said Steve, which earned him a glare.

“Look,” said Tony, shaking the hat so they could hear the rustle of paper. “We’re having movie night every Thursday for the next few weeks. Each slip has a date on it, so we can all just pick which week we’re choosing what we watch.” He looked at Clint. “You’re going to need fingers for this, Wild Thing.”

Clint made a disgusted noise to express his disdain for the idea that he couldn’t handle something that simple as a hawk. Non-shifters like Tony always assumed that being an animal made you useless. He took off from the chair back, beating hard to gain height and circling around the table once. He lined up his angle, then plummeted towards the hat, grabbing a slip of paper in his talons and timing the flap of his wings just right to get him up and out before he ended up tangled in the hat.

Tony reacted by starting back and nearly dropping the hat. “Jesus, some warning maybe?”

Clint let out a triumphant shriek, swooping close over his head, then settled on a perch that was right above the table.

“Okay, but how are you going to read it?” asked Rhodey.

Clint glanced down at the talon gripping the paper, trying to get a good look, but it was scrunched up so the writing was on the wrong side. He pulled it off with his beak, which didn’t help much either.

“Give it here, I’ll read it,” said Natasha, standing up and holding a hand up to him.

He ignored her. He delicately took the paper from his beak with one talon, holding it the right way up, and held it out to where he could squint at it with one eye.

The 17th. Great. Now he just had to remember what the date was today to work out when the 17th was.

“Okay,” said Tony, “great. Anyone else going to shift for this, or are we all going to embrace the joy of opposable thumbs?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, plucking a piece of paper from the hat. “Next week,” she said, tucking it in a pocket and then starting to clear plates.

One by one the others all pulled their own slips. When Tony held the hat out to Barnes, he just stared at it for a full ten seconds before looking up at him. “I don’t know any movies,” he said, not moving to take a slip.

“Please, tell that to someone who hasn’t sat through Steve’s tales of sneaking in through the theatre’s side door as rapscallion kids,” said Tony, shaking the hat at him. “Besides, you’ll have time to research, unless you get tonight, in which case you can always swap.”

Barnes glanced at Steve, who gave him an encouraging nod, then reached in to take a slip. He opened it up. “Next month,” he said.

“See?” said Tony. “Plenty of time.”

Barnes didn’t look sure about that, but he didn’t say anything else.

Sam ended up getting that night’s choice, which made him grin. “ _Amelie_ , then.”

Natasha let out a quiet sigh that Clint was pretty sure no one else heard.

“But first, the dishes,” said Steve, giving Tony a pointed look.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Tony, standing to start help Natasha clear the table. He glanced up at Clint. “Are you helping, or are you staying a bird so you have an excuse to get out of it?”

Clint couldn’t really give a smug grin with a beak, but he gave it a damn good try.

“Leave him alone,” said Natasha. “Stop trying to force a shape on him.”

Tony rolled his eyes at her, then was clearly struck with a thought. He looked over at Barnes. “Oh, hey, you’re a wolf shifter, right? Am I going to need to get another enormous dog bed like Steve’s for you so you can watch TV while shifted?”

Barnes’s whole face shut down and his hands clenched into fists. He stayed still for a moment, then abruptly stood up and strode out of the room without looking back.

“Fuck,” muttered Steve, getting up and chasing after him.

Tony blinked, then glanced around at the others. “Okay, what did I say? I thought I was being helpful.”

“I think he’s just overwhelmed,” said Sam. “Dinner with all of us can be a lot.”

“Doing anything with Tony can be a lot,” said Natasha, taking her stack of plates through to the kitchen.

Steve didn’t come back until they were all settled in the lounge with popcorn, and he came back alone. He just offered a shrug when they all looked at him.

“He’s getting an early night,” he said, which was so much bullshit that Clint could practically smell it. “I think it might be best not to mention his shift around him,” he added. “Kind of a sore subject.”

“Understood,” said Tony. “No buying dog toys for him.”

“No more buying dog toys for anyone,” said Steve, settling in his spot on the couch next to Sam and relaxing against him with a sigh that made Clint think that dealing with whatever had freaked Barnes out had been more exhausting than he’d let on.

“Don’t be ungrateful,” said Tony. “You know that frisbee painted like your shield is the best gift you’ve ever been given.”

“I always thought the Thor’s hammer squeaky toy was the best,” said Sam. “Whatever happened to that?”

“Thor took it back to Asgard with him,” admitted Steve.

Thor had technically been a natural shifter as well, but Clint had decided not count him, because all Asgardians were shifters so it wasn’t as if he’d ever had to live with hiding who he was like a dark secret.

Also, his shift had been a lion, which Clint had decided was far too over-the-top and ostentatious. The idea of him curled up in lion form around a toy shaped like his hammer while off in the royal palace of Asgard was pretty special, though.

****

Clint stayed in the mood to be a hawk for the next week or so, then one morning he woke up on the perch in the corner of his room and decided he wanted to have a proper shower. He shifted back to human, taking his chance to sing loud show tunes, because being a hawk was great but it wasn’t exactly great for belting out cheesy hits.

He didn’t feel the urge to feel air under his feathers, so he got dressed and headed out to the kitchen for coffee, then down to the range to get his daily shooting session in.

There was someone already in there when he got there. Barnes whirled as Clint came in the room, only just stopping himself from aiming at Clint instead of the target.

Clint held his hands up, bow clutched in one of them. “Whoa, hey, no threat, man.”

Barnes scowled, apparently at himself, and dropped his gun hand. “Sorry,” he said, then gave Clint a puzzled look. “Clint Barton,” he said.

“Yep,” said Clint. “We’ve met, but I get that you don’t recognise me.”

“You spend a lot of time as a hawk,” said Barnes. He hesitated, then added. “I thought maybe you were stuck, or something.”

Clint snorted as he headed for a lane and started to set himself up. “Nah, I’ve just been in a hawk mood.” He glanced over at Barnes. “I’m a natural, you know. We tend to keep a more even split on what shape we are than you enhanced guys.”

Barnes had turned back to his target, but he sent Clint a wild look at that, then tucked his gun away. “I gotta go,” he muttered, and strode out of the room.

Clint watched him go, then let out a deep breath. If it turned out Barnes had a problem with natural shifters then, fuck it. Clint was going to have a problem with him, and it didn’t matter how many puppy-eyed looks Steve gave him.

****

The next morning, Clint was leaning against the counter in the kitchen cradling a cup of coffee when Steve and Barnes walked in. Barnes took one look at him and his eyes widened for a moment, before a guarded expression took over his face.

Yeah, Clint wasn’t letting that go. He downed his coffee so he could set his mug down, then yanked his t-shirt off over his head so that when he transformed, his wings didn’t get tangled in it.

He flapped up and out of his pants, letting out a loud shriek of defiance, soaring up to land on the perch above the fridge.

Steve let out a very loud sigh. “Jesus, Clint, what the hell? Are you really just going to leave your clothes there?”

Clint wasn’t looking at him though, he was watching Barnes, who had frozen still the moment he’d yanked off his shirt. He didn’t leave the room though, not like Clint had been expecting. Instead, he let out a long, slow breath, then dragged out a chair and collapsed into it.

“Seriously, Clint,” said Steve, “being in that shape doesn’t mean you can go dumping clothes in the kitchen. Pick them up.”

Clint rolled his eyes, which was always very satisfying in his hawk shape, then took off again.

He circled once, then plummeted to grab his pants in one talon and his shirt in the other before soaring up again, wobbling as he tried to adjust to the weight before he caught his balance and headed out of the door.

“You left your socks!” Steve called after him. Clint ignored him.

****

Barnes was starting to spend more and more time in the communal areas, which made it very obvious to everyone that Clint was making sure he was a hawk whenever they were in the same room together.

In the end, it was Sam who took him to one side, although Clint’s money had been on Steve just losing it and yelling at him. But then, Steve had probably bitched about him to Sam, who had then talked him down from yelling, because Sam was all calm and rational like that.

“Look, man, do you have a problem with Bucky?”

“Nope,” said Clint, popping the word and giving Sam a grin before taking a drag from his beer bottle.

Sam sighed, rubbing at his face. “Okay, then why are you always on the wing around him?”

Clint shrugged. “I’m a shifter. I spend a lot of time as a hawk.”

Sam squinted at him with a frown. “Did he do or say something to set you off? You know he’s going through a lot, he’s not always aware of shit like that.”

Clint didn’t give a crap what the guy had been through. No one got to judge him on being a natural shifter, not now he was all grown up and able to shoot them right in the eye from 300 yards. “Yeah, we’re all pulling for him,” he said.

Sam gave up after that, heading back across the room to mutter with Steve, which confirmed Clint’s assumption about where that little talk had come from.

“Some might say you’re taking this too far,” said Natasha.

Clint ignored her. It wasn’t as if he were actively attacking the guy or anything. He was just making a point.

****

The next day he’d only just started his work out in the gym when Barnes walked in. He hesitated for a second before his stubbornness outweighed his common sense and he stepped back from the punching bag, starting to strip off his t-shirt so that he could transform.

“Wait,” said Barnes, striding over. “I need to talk to you.”

“Do you?” asked Clint, holding his shirt in his hand. “Can’t imagine what about.”

Barnes made a frustrated noise, clenching his hands into fists. “Look, I get it, okay? If I were trapped in a Tower with a guy who spent seventy years killing whoever Hydra wanted shot of, I’d make sure I could fly out of range whenever he was around too. I can’t blame you for that.”

Aw man. No, that was...fuck. Clint was the one being the asshole.

“Just, I wanted to ask, because I know Steve probably didn’t bother,” carried on Barnes. “Would it be better if I just wasn’t here? Because, I get this is your home and I just kinda got shoehorned in, I can go find somewhere else.”

“No,” said Clint. “No, don’t be- of course not. I’m not going to tell you to get out, are you kidding? Cap would kill me, after everything he went through trying to get you here.”

Barnes shrugged awkwardly. “I’m making you uncomfortable,” he said, and he sounded so fucking bummed out about it.

Clint let out a sigh and rubbed a hand over the back of his head. “Okay, so, apparently I’ve been a dick,” he said. “This has nothing to do with your Hydra days, or you being an assassin, or me wanting an escape or whatever. I didn’t even stop to think you’d think that.” He hesitated, then added, because it felt like he owned the guy something, even if it was the kind of honesty that felt like chewing on broken glass, “It’d be pretty hypocritical of me, anyway, considering I’ve also done my time killing people while brainwashed by a bad guy.”

That brought Barnes’s head up so he could stare at Clint with wide eyes, which Clint guessed meant Steve hadn’t shared that little story with him. Clint hurried on before he decided he wanted to start asking questions.

“I’ve been taking shit for being a natural shifter since I was kid,” he said, instead. “I’m done with it. I’m as much a hawk as I am a man, and if you’ve got a problem with that, then you damn well can move out.”

“What?” said Barnes, then, “No, that’s- Why the hell would you think that?”

Clint rolled his eyes. “You’ve done a panicked run from a room more than once when people were talking about shifting. The only time me and you have talked, all I did was mention being a natural and you took off like the hounds of hell were chasing you. I get you’ve got issues with your own shift, I’m not gonna mess with that, but this is who I am, and I’m done trying to change.”

He’d spent years as a kid trying to be the ‘normal’ kid that his dad wanted him to be. He’d tried so hard to stifle the hawk part of himself, spending as long as he could as a human before he couldn’t take it anymore, and he had to change just so he could get a breath of fresh air.

Not that it had helped. His dad had hated him long before Clint was old enough to try and change it.

Barnes shifted his stance, as if positioning himself for a fight, but when he spoke, it was in a low, apologetic voice. “I didn’t mean to make it seem like that,” he said. “I don’t care about you being a natural, I swear. I don’t care about any of the shifters here, it’s just-”

He cut himself off, then ducked his head and swore in Russian. “Look, it’s me, okay? My issues are all with me and… and with my shift. It’s like, there’s all these landmines buried in my head that I don’t know about until someone says something, and then I just need to get out and hide, and half the time I only work out why afterwards.”

Aw man, Clint knew exactly how that felt. “Okay,” he said, slowly. “So, what? It’s better if I never mention shifting at all? Because I don’t know I can do that.”

Barnes shook his head. “No, it’s- Just don’t mention me. My shift.” His hands were clenched into fists and he looked like he was about to start vibrating with the need to get out of this conversation, so Clint didn’t go poking.

“Okay, no problem,” he said, as easily as he could. “And, hey, any time you need to get out of a conversation, you just say ‘landmine’ before you disappear, and I’ll avoid being an asshole about it afterwards.”

Barnes gave him a very long look, then jerked a nod.

“Cool,” said Clint, and looked down at the shirt in his hand. If he was going to stay to finish his work out, he should probably put it on. If Tony came in and found him working out shirtless again, he’d make life pretty unbearable for a bit, especially if he downloaded the security footage and set it to porn music again.

“It’s not you,” blurted out Barnes, and Clint looked back up at him. “Your shift is beautiful.”

Clint couldn’t keep in a grin. “Red-tailed hawk,” he boasted. “Best damn bird in the sky. And you can tell Sam I said that.”

Barnes found a shaky grin. “I do enjoy pissing him off.”

“Cool, then we have shit in common,” said Clint, grinning. “And not just the brainwashed sniper assassins thing.”

The door opened and Tony came in, then stopped dead when he saw Clint. “Holy hell, Hawkeye, why do you find keeping a shirt on so hard? Are you trying to terrify the new guy?” He tipped his head to one side, “Or seduce him?”

Clint rolled his eyes as he pulled his shirt back on. “You know, I hear you talking, but all it sounds like is ‘I’m so jealous of your abs.’”

Tony snorted. “Maybe if you were Steve,” he said, heading for the running machine.

“I’ll talk to you later,” said Barnes, and took off out of the gym, which Clint couldn’t blame him for. Being around Tony was exhausting even when you weren’t battling through all kinds of mental health issues.

****

After that, Barnes slowly became Bucky. Clint stopped turning into a hawk every time he was around, which meant he actually got to talk to the guy, especially when it turned out their gym schedules lined up, and shooting at the range was even more fun when there was another expert marksman there to joke around with. Clint took it upon himself to catch Bucky up on _Dog Cops_ , because that was pretty much the only piece of modern culture that he needed to get by, and then, well.

See, the thing was, once Bucky came out of his shell, he had a killer sense of humour, and enjoyed stupid pranks that pissed everyone else off almost as much as Clint did, and, holy hell, he was smoking hot. Like, unbelievable smoking hot, especially when he’d just nailed another bullseye and flicked his hair back to give Clint a smug grin.

By the time he’d been in the Tower for six months, Clint was so in love with him that he had kinda forgotten how to function without spending all his time pining after him. 

They were all curled up on sofas, watching the credits roll on _Black Swan_ , because Natasha thought she was being subtle about trying to use her movie picks to drive everyone insane and end the forced socialisation of Thursday movie nights, when Sam threw a leftover bit of popcorn at Clint.

“Hey, wanna go flying tomorrow morning?”

Clint ate the piece of popcorn. “Sure,” he said. “If you think you can keep up.” He sent over a smug look that made Sam roll his eyes. “Hey, want to take the quinjet up-state?”

Steve did a ridiculous perking up thing that he then badly tried to hide. “To that forest?”

Clint caught Sam’s eye and did his best not to smirk. “Yeah,” he said. “Figure we can just fly about in the open air, enjoy the trees and the wildlife, maybe take along a picnic.”

“Sounds good,” said Steve, entirely failing to be casual. His arm tightened around Sam, who was leaning into his chest. “Have fun.”

He entirely failed to hide the note of ‘small child who had been told he couldn’t go and see Santa with the other kids’ in his voice.

“Yeah, nothing like getting to frolic in your shifted form,” said Clint, then glanced over at Natasha. “Hey, Nat. Want to come? You can go tree-to-tree like a secret ninja shadow.”

“I do enjoy that,” she agreed. “Very well.”

Steve shifted his weight, but didn’t say anything. Sam patted gently at his thigh.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, this is just cruel now.”

Clint gave him a half-hearted glare for ruining the game, but obligingly looked over at Steve. “Do you want to come?”

“Thanks, but I think I might stay here and sketch,” said Steve.

Bucky snorted and threw a cushion at him. “Don’t be a punk, Rogers.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “Why, are you going to come?” He asked, giving Bucky a pointed look.

Bucky froze up, then visibly forced himself to relax. “Nope,” he said. “I’m gonna stay here with the other cyborgs.”

Rhodey let out a very long sigh. “I’m not a cyborg, the suit is separate to me,” he muttered.

“I’m definitely a cyborg,” said Tony, tapping his fingers against his arc reactor. “Guess you’ll have to skip out on the awesome times we’re going to have, fiddling with shit in my workshop.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” said Steve. “If Tony and Bucky are being left unsupervised in the workshop, I want to be as far away as possible.”

Clint wasn’t the only member of the team that Bucky had opened up and become friends with. It turned out that he was into mechanics and technology, even if he was a few decades behind with some of it. He’d bought an old Harley-Davidson EL with his backpay and persuaded Tony to let him use a corner of his workshop to fix it up in, which had led to them bonding over grease and spanners. Sometimes that ended in things exploding, or Tony building a mini-robot that went around stealing socks and hiding them under Bucky’s bed.

“I’ll supervise them,” said Rhodey, using his ‘I’m a highly-trained and very sensible member of the Armed Forces’ voice, which was only convincing if you hadn’t seen him gleefully egging Tony on to add more weaponry to his latest design.

“Maybe we should go to a forest in Canada,” suggested Clint.

“Or Europe,” added Natasha.

****

Clint went to get coffee before they left the next day, and found Bucky slumped at the kitchen table, staring gloomily at a mug. “Hey, bad night?” he asked.

Bucky looked up and just blinked at him for a moment, then shook his head. “Bad morning,” he said, just as Steve and Sam came in from their morning run. They were giving each other their usual post-run besotted looks, because it was apparently one of their key courting rituals, but as soon as Bucky saw them, he stood up.

“See you later,” he said, and disappeared without meeting Steve or Sam’s eyes.

Clint turned and gave Steve a pointed look. “What did you do?

“Nothing,” said Steve defensively, getting a couple of glasses out and filling them with water.

Clint turned and looked at Sam.

“He decided it would be a great idea to try and pressure Bucky into coming today, and shifting with us,” said Sam.

Clint looked back at Steve with a glare. Bucky had relaxed into a whole new person over the last few months, but the one thing he hadn’t wavered on was that he hated any mention of his shift.

Steve let out a sigh, handing a glass to Sam. “Okay, bad idea, I get it. Just, it’s been six months.”

“It’s his choice,” said Sam gently, in the tone of someone who has said something before. “He knows we’ll be there for him when he’s ready, but until then…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” muttered Steve. “Just would be nice to have some canine company while you two are in the air, and Natasha’s creeping around in the shadows.”

“We can go to a shelter so you can adopt a dog if you want,” said Clint, and earned himself a withering look.

He slapped Steve’s shoulder as he passed by to sit down with his coffee. “I mean, I get it, man, I don’t know how he stays human all the time either, especially when he’s got the rest of us to goof around with, if he wants. Just doesn’t seem worth upsetting him by asking about it.”

Sam set his glass down in the sink. “Think of it this way,” he said. “Hydra did a lot of things to him. Changed his body in ways he had no control over, and that he can’t change back now. He can’t take the serum out of his veins, or unplug the arm from his nervous system. He’s just got to live with being what they made him. Shifting, though, that he gets a choice on. He doesn’t have to be the wolf they made him, so he’s not.”

Clint started nodding, because that actually made sense.

“No,” said Steve. “That’s not- Hydra didn’t make Bucky into a shifter. He was born one.”

Clint whipped his head around to stare at him. “What?”

“Yeah,” said Steve, frowning. “I figured everyone knew. I mean, he didn’t go sharing it around, but the people he trusted knew. His family, me, the other Commandos.”

Clint’s mouth was still open. “He’s a natural?” he asked, weakly. He’d only met a couple of other naturals in his lifetime, and no one that he’d really become friends with. He shook his head. “Okay, then that makes no damn sense. You’re sure he’s not shifting alone in his room or something? There’s no way a natural could go six months without taking their other shape.”

“I went a year after Riley,” Sam quietly reminded him.

Clint shook his head. “No, it’s different. You guys, enhanced shifters, you treat it like it’s just an optional extra. You can become an animal, but it’s not who you _are_. Me, and other naturals, our other shape is half of who we are. I’m as much hawk as a human, and when I don’t shift for a few days, I _feel_ it. Not like pain, but like… like being locked up in a tiny room when you’re used to getting out and running everyday. Like you’re stifling who you are, until you’re just itching to shift.”

Steve’s frown looked engraved on his forehead as he glanced over at where Bucky had disappeared. “It doesn’t feel like that when I don’t change.”

Clint snorted, downing his coffee then standing up to dump the mug in the sink. “You’re not a dog,” he said. “You can just fake it really well. If Bucky’s a natural, then he’s a wolf, and he’s going to be driving himself nuts by not embracing it.”

Steve was silent as Clint walked out, looking pensive in a way that meant Clint was right about just how little enhanced shifters understood about what it meant to be born as one.

Part of him really wanted to go and find Bucky so he could yell at him for not telling Clint himself, and shake him until he gave in and shifted, and stopped hiding from who he was, but he managed to turn his feet to his own room instead, shutting the door behind himself and sinking down onto the edge of his bed to bury his face in his hands. Fuck, his skin was itching just from the _idea_ of repressing his shift for so long.

He pulled off his clothes and shifted into a hawk, then let his feelings of frustration and helplessness out in a shriek. How the hell could he let Bucky keep doing this to himself?

But what could he do to help when Bucky wouldn’t even talk about it?

****

He was hovering just above the tree canopy, aware of Sam climbing a thermal behind him and Steve sniffing at a tree just below. He could see everything from up here, with the whole world spread out below him and the wind preening his feathers.

It was moments like this that made him love being a shifter more than anything. Even with all the shit it had brought him, there was nothing that could make him regret being able to see the world through another set of eyes.

How the hell did Bucky live without letting himself have this?

A dark shape streaked out from under a tree across a clearing, and Clint was diving before he’d even thought about it, hawk instincts sending him plummeting with talons out-stretched.

He swooped close enough to almost graze Natasha's fur before pulling up, and she turned to swipe at him with a claw, hissing.

 _Cat instincts,_ he thought as he evaded her, letting out an amused cry as Steve bounded over to join the fun.

What kind of animal instincts was Bucky repressing? What did wolves value?

Steve had pounced on Natasha, who rolled to evade him, then circled around, tail twitching. Steve gave a happy bark, tail wagging, as Sam soared down to swoop close over his head, then landed, slightly awkwardly, on his back.

Pack, thought Clint, following Sam down and landing beside him, talons buried in Steve's fur as he flapped his wings to keep his balance. Wolves were even more about pack than dogs were.

Which made sense. Since Bucky had settled in at the Tower properly, he'd started spending most of his time in the communal areas, just hanging out with a book in the sitting room, or asking JARVIS to pass the message on that he was making coffee if anyone wanted one. That was one of the reasons he and Clint had become such fast friends, because Clint never turned down an offer of coffee if he could help it.

Natasha leaned back on her hind legs, preparing to pounce, and Clint took off just before she landed on Steve, soaring up to land on a branch where he could watch the resulting wrestling match.

If he was going to get Bucky over his issues with his shift, maybe that was how. He should encourage those wolf instincts until relaxing back into that shape didn't feel like such a big deal any more. At the very least, it would make him feel less stifled in his human form.

****

He explained his idea to the others as they flew back.

“Clint, I don't think we should be manipulating Bucky into shifting,” said Steve.

“No, of course not,” said Clint, although he was pretty sure that just shifting once was exactly what Bucky needed to move past his mental block. “Just, appealing to his instincts will make not shifting easier for him. When I couldn't shift freely, finding somewhere high to sit always helped.” 

Up until Dad had found something to throw at him, anyway.

“And you think acting like a pack will do that for Bucky?” asked Natasha.

Clint shrugged. “That's the most obvious wolf thing, right? Unless you can think of any other behaviours from when you were kids, Steve.”

Steve frowned as he thought that over. “He couldn't really shift outside the apartment,” he said thoughtfully. “Mostly I remember him shifting to put his head in his mom's lap when I stayed over and she told us stories, or lying next to me when I was sick to keep me warm.”

Clint nodded. “Pack behaviour.”

“So, what?” said Sam, from up front where he was flying the quinjet. “You want us to snuggle with him?”

Clint shrugged. “Casual physical affection,” he said. “Sharing food. That kinda thing. And not just with him or he'll cotton on to it. We all need to be part of the pack.”

Natasha let out a sigh. “If anyone strokes my hair, I'll stab them.”

That was pretty much a wholehearted agreement, coming from her. Clint allowed himself a satisfied smile.

****

He started small, clapping a hand to Bucky's shoulder in greeting as he wandered into the kitchen for coffee. “Want one?” he offered, and felt the thrill of a plan coming together when Bucky nodded.

Or the thrill of getting to spend at least the length of a coffee with his crush, but he was doing his best to ignore that mess.

That evening after dinner, he found Bucky reading in his usual spot with Natasha beside him, flicking through something on a Starkpad.

She met his eyes as he came in, giving him a quiet look that he instantly recognised as ‘look, I'm doing what you wanted. Now you owe me.’

Clint just grinned back, because it wasn't as if he didn't already owe her a hundred times over, and threw himself onto the sofa on the other side of Bucky.

“Are we watching _Dog Cops_?” he asked.

“No,” said Natasha firmly. She twisted around and set her foot on Bucky's leg, toes pointed at Clint. “If you're bored, you can paint my nails.”

Bucky looked down at her foot. “On top of me? You know this Tower is huge, right?”

He didn't actually sound put out, though, so Clint ignored him. He got Natasha's varnish from her room and set about giving her a pedicure. He couldn't help noticing that Bucky held his leg very still for it, but whether that was to encourage them using him as a convenient surface, or to avoid getting nail varnish on his pants, he couldn't tell.

Two days later it was another movie night. Steve turned up in his dog form but instead of sprawling on the enormous dog bed Tony had got him, he curled up on the sofa between Sam and Bucky, chin resting on Bucky's knee. They were less than halfway through the film before Bucky started petting him.

Watching Bucky's fingers groom through Steve's fur, all Clint could think about was what it would feel like to have Bucky do that to his feathers. Fuck, this was meant to be about making Bucky feel better about his shift, Clint shouldn't be bringing his ridiculous crush into it.

And yet. Would it really be hurting anyone if he did get Bucky to groom him?

It wasn't like anyone else had to know there was more to it than pack-bonding, after all.

He waited until their next briefing to show up in feathers, landing on the arm of Bucky's chair and then fluffing up his wings, giving Bucky the most pointed look he could manage.

“Anyone else wondering if maybe Clint’s just trained a real hawk to come sit on these chairs so he can skip out on briefings?” asked Bucky.

“All the time,” said Tony.

That was an actually a genius idea, and Clint was pissed he hadn’t thought of it before it had been pointed out. He pecked gently at Bucky’s sleeve, then tried to pointedly worm his head under Bucky’s hand when he raised it out of the way.

“Jesus, it was just a joke, don’t be pissy,” said Bucky.

Hawks couldn’t really sigh in the same way that humans did, but that didn’t stop Clint from letting his exasperation be felt. He nudged Bucky’s hand again, angling for it to run over his head. Bucky pulled it right out of the way.

“He wants you to preen him,” said Natasha.

Bucky immediately flinched back even further. “Are you kidding?” he asked her, then turned his disbelieving look on Clint. “You’re kinda fragile like that, and I’m… Well, I’m not known for being gentle.”

Clint let out a shrill cry of derision at that nonsense, then rolled his eyes as well, just to make sure he got his point across.

“You’ll be fine,” said Natasha, slipping into the seat next to Bucky. “You worry too much.”

She ran her fingers through the feathers of Clint’s head, and then down his back. “You petted Steve okay the other day.”

Bucky snorted. “Steve is the size of a bear.”

“And hoping we’ll get this briefing under way before midnight,” said Steve. “C’mon, focus, guys.”

They all pretended to turn their attention to him as he started talking about the latest trade crisis and how Hydra were taking advantage of it. Or maybe it was AIM. Clint wasn’t really listening, he was too busy nudging at Bucky.

Natasha ran her fingers through his feathers a couple more times, then took her hand away and also gave Bucky a pointed look, which made him glare half-heartedly at them both.  
It was barely two minutes before he hesitantly reached out for Clint though, finger tips barely connected as he stroked over his back. Clint shivered with pleasure and hopped closer to him in encouragement.

Bucky slowly grew more confident, until he was grooming through Clint’s feathers with enough force to make him want to just melt under the attention. He lost all track of the briefing and decided he’d just get Natasha to fill him in later, because there was no way he was stopping Bucky right now.

At some point, Steve stopped talking and most people took the chance to escape. Clint just hopped down from the arm of the chair to Bucky’s leg, gripping as gently as he could with his talons but making it very clear that he wasn’t allowed to leave just yet.

Bucky snorted, scratching over his head. “I didn’t realise hawks were such sluts for being petted.”

“They’re not,” said Natasha, standing up. “Or at least, only in very specific situations.”

She gave Clint a pointed look that meant she’d researched hawk mating habits, but thankfully she left without saying anything else.

“Is that right?” asked Bucky quietly, smoothing Clint’s tail feathers into place. “This isn’t a hawk thing?”

Clint shook himself, because Natasha’s comment had made him realise that he was taking advantage of Bucky in order to engage in mating rituals without him knowing, and that probably wasn’t okay. He stepped back and took off, flying in a circle around Bucky as a goodbye before heading out the door. He needed to remember this was about Bucky’s pack instincts, not his own desperate, doomed desire to date the poor guy.

He flew up to his room where he changed to human and put clothes on, then headed for the kitchen. Bucky was already curled up on the sofa reading a book, and despite all Clint’s good intentions, he couldn’t stop himself from ruffling his hair as he went past.

“Asshole,” muttered Bucky, smoothing his hair back into place. “That’s kinda the opposite of grooming.”

“I could braid it for you,” said Clint. “I can do all kindsa fancy complicated braids, and I know Natasha has ribbons we could borrow.”

That just earned him a dark look, so he carried on into the kitchen. Pack bonding was more like being siblings, he just needed to focus on that, and less on how much he wanted to just curl up against Bucky and have him pet his hair as thoroughly as he’d preened his feathers.

****

Four days later, Clint was on the roof of a tower block, shooting arrows at AIM’s latest attempts at genetic superiority and wondering if the briefing he’d ignored would explain why they all had TV screens embedded in their stomachs. All he did know that a bunch of these weird pale cyborg things had turned up along with AIM’s supreme leader MODOK, who was a dick to deal with at the best of times, even when he hadn’t a bought a bunch of freaky-ass minions with him.

Clint could see Bucky on the ground and he wondered why he hadn’t realised earlier that Bucky was as much a wolf as Clint was a hawk. The way he stalked the AIM cyborgs, circling around them and driving them in towards the rest of the team, the way he kept glancing at Steve, watching the pack leader for instructions: everything about it screamed wolf. Clint had thought that the way Bucky had fallen so easily into their team strategies had been because of training with the Howling Commandos, but now he was realising it was because he was a pack animal, and hunting with a group was in his DNA.

It was sexy as hell in ways that Clint couldn’t put his finger on and he kept finding himself distracted by it, which wasn’t a good idea in a fight. In the end, he only managed to stop looking by telling himself that if he kept his attention on the fight, he could step up to the next level of pack bonding later on, and nestle against Bucky as they watched a movie, or try playing with his hair for real, or something else that came close to stepping over the line.

He shot an arrow at a cyborg with a jetpack that was coming in towards him, wondering when they’d started flying.

The arrow killed the cyborg but didn’t power down the jetpack, and Clint realised, too late, that there were another three cyborgs with jetpacks coming from his left. He grabbed at arrows, sending two at once and then following up with an explosive one that he was hoping would blast them off course, but it was all too late.

The first agent’s body hit the building Clint was standing on like a missile, swiftly followed by the other three, slamming through brick and making the whole building shudder, loud cracks ringing out as the roof sank to one side in a worrying way.

“Hawkeye!” shouted Tony. “It’s not stable, you need to get clear!”

Yeah, Clint had already worked that one out. The building shook again and something crashed a few floors below. The only way for him to get off the roof was on the opposite side of the building to the fight, and involved jumping down the height of a storey onto the neighbouring building. He turned and sprinted across the roof, but he could already tell he wasn’t going to make it.

The building shook again and the whole roof slumped further to one side, dust starting to fill the air as it slowly collapsed down.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Tony, Sam! Can you get him?” he heard Cap shout, but he already knew Sam was too far out, and last time he’d seen Tony, he’d been taking on MODOK himself. And Rhodey was in god-damned Washington DC, meeting some fuckers at the Pentagon, which was even less help.

“Clint!” Bucky screamed over the comms, but Clint didn’t have time to think about the note of desperation in his voice, or how close it sounded to a howl. He only had one way out of this, and he needed to concentrate to get every move of it right, or he was going to end up tangled up in his TAC vest underneath a pile of rubble.

He dropped his bow and snapped open the quick release on his quiver, letting it fall.

The collapse of the roof was speeding up, loud crashes making the whole structure shudder as it started to fall. Clint kept his hands as steady as he could, counting the seconds in his head as if he were in the range, running through one of thousands of practices he’d put himself through in preparation for just this moment, making sure he could do this as quickly as possible and without getting caught.

He grabbed the velcro that held his vest together and ripped it open, throwing the flaps up and over his shoulders. He and Tony had designed this vest together, making it so that he could flip the whole top part away and free his shoulders in as little time as possible.

The ground abruptly disappeared beneath him, dust rising up as the building collapsed down with an almighty crash, but he was free of his TAC vest now and his arms had enough clearance to become wings as he shifted, already flapping hard down as the rest of his clothes fell away from his shrinking body. The comm unit in his ear fell out, abruptly cutting off the desperate voices of his teammates. He had to kick his talons free, still desperately clawing at the air to gain height, but he was going up while the building went down, surrounded by the debris and dust being thrown up.

It had taken less than five seconds to shift, but it had almost been too long. He soared free, still gaining height as he made it out of the building’s cloud of destruction, then wheeled around and let out a cry to let everyone know he was all right.

Sam was flying in from the left, far too late to do any good if Clint hadn’t escaped on his own, and he could see Natasha paused down the street, staring at the building with a white face and tight jaw.

It was Bucky that commanded his attention, though. He was pounding down the street, gun cradled in his hands as if it were nothing but an afterthought and panic streaking his face. He must not have heard Clint’s cry, or maybe he didn’t realise what it meant. An AIM cyborg lumbered at him and he smashed a metal fist right through it without stopping.

The building was only half-collapsed, although it was working on getting the rest of the way there. A part of one of the floors that had been hanging on at an angle gave way, crashing down on top of the pile of rubble that was all that was left of the corner where Clint had set up his perch.

Aw, his gear was somewhere in that mess. He’d had some good arrows in that quiver.

Bucky pulled to a halt in front of the building and shouted Clint’s name again. Clint immediately soared down towards him, letting out another cry, one that finally pulled Bucky’s attention away from the wreck.

He stared at Clint with wide eyes, then slung his gun over his back in a careless movement and held his arm out in an unmistakable way. Clint dove down, talons out, and landed on it as gently as he could, even though it wasn’t as if there was much damage his talons could do to metal.

“Oh, fuck, Clint,” said Bucky, sounding far more breathless than he should have been from sprinting a short distance. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Clint shifted his weight and gave him a look that he hoped would convey that AIM would have to try a lot harder to take him out.

Bucky reached out and gently touched the top of his head.

“You’re a fucking menace,” he said, brushing dust off Clint’s feathers.

Clint just fluffed himself up, glancing around to make sure they weren’t in danger.

All the AIM cyborgs seemed to be either down for the count, or jetting off into the distance after MODOK’s ship, so he guessed they’d won.

“God, Clint,” muttered Bucky, and Clint realised that the hand still preening him was shaking. “I don’t know what the fuck I’d do if…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He just pressed his lips together and took a deep breath, as if pushing emotion back, and Clint blinked at him, then tipped his head to one side. For the first time, he felt a flutter of suspicion that he might not be alone with all these emotions, that maybe, _maybe_ Bucky might feel something similar back.

Nope. No way. Clint’s life didn’t work like that, and what the hell would Bucky see in him, anyway?

“ _Durak_ ,” said Natasha, and he pulled his eyes away from Bucky to see she had come over. She gently rested her fingers on his back, then let them fall so that Bucky could keep stroking over his feathers. “I told you that you needed to get quicker at that.”

Clint rolled his eyes, because he’d been quick enough, hadn’t he? 

Iron Man landed next to them. “Is birdbrain all in one piece?” He glanced over at Clint as his faceplate flipped up. “Let me guess, you’re fine, but your equipment isn’t and, Tony, could you please make me a new set, maybe even shinier and with even more bells and whistles and, seriously, if you want new stuff you know you don’t have to trash the old lot, right?”

He was talking slightly too fast, which meant he’d been worried. Clint felt touched. 

Sam landed next to him, folding his wings down. “Tony, you don’t get to comment until you retire more than 5% of your suits in one piece.”

“Hey,” protested Tony, but he didn’t go on to make excuses for why so many of his suits ended up completely destroyed, usually while he was wearing them, so he wasn’t really paying any attention.

In fact, he was still looking at Clint, and so was Sam.

Clint looked around at his team, at Steve who was striding over, at Natasha who was keeping her emotions off her face but was still hovering too close, at Bucky who still hadn’t stopped touching him, and thought that maybe there was something in this pack bonding thing after all.

****

Clint would have just flown back to the Tower, but it didn’t seem like Bucky was going to stop petting him any time soon, so he stayed firmly clamped to his wrist as SHIELD turned up to clear up and work out what to do with the corpses of a bunch of yellow half-robot genetic abominations.

Bucky found a piece of rubble to sit on near the quinjet in what felt like a very pointed _I want to go home now_ way as Cap and Tony had all the boring post-fight conversations that Clint always avoided like the plague.

“You’ve got dust all over,” said Bucky quietly, brushing over one of Clint’s wings. “I think I’m only really making it worse.”

Clint hunched his wings in a way that he hoped conveyed a shrug because he didn’t really give a shit how much collapsing building he was coated in as long as Bucky kept touching him like that.

“You really like being preened, huh?” said Bucky, which Clint didn’t bother replying to, because he was pretty sure it was obvious from the way he’d just about melted under Bucky’s hands.

“I looked it up, you know,” said Bucky. “After what Natasha said. About hawks and preening.”

Ah, crap.

Clint shifted his weight, fidgeting his wings in preparation for making a getaway. Bucky’s fingers moved to his head, delicately tracing over the lines of his skull. “I’m thinking we should maybe talk,” he said. “Back at the Tower, when you’ve got vocal cords again.”

Clint was thinking that maybe he’d just stay a hawk forever rather than endure that when Bucky lifted his arm up so he could look Clint straight in the eyes. “Don’t get all twitchy and defensive,” he said. “If I had a problem, I wouldn’t still be stroking you.”

And that was... Fuck. That was something Clint couldn’t get his head around just yet, so instead he stayed very still and let Bucky groom his fingers through his feathers until the rest of the team were done, and they all crowded back onto the quinjet and headed home.

There was an almost soporific effect to having Bucky stroking him when he was in his hawk form. Bucky didn’t stop doing it for the entire trip, just glaring at Tony when he made some snide comment that Clint was too relaxed to bother listening to.

It wasn’t until they landed back at the Tower and Bucky’s hand dropped off Clint’s head that the strum of tension settled back into Clint’s stomach. Fuck, what the hell was he going to say to Bucky that could turn this hint of a chance at what he wanted into a solid reality? He was terrible at flirting and being smooth and all that stuff that guys like Tony used to turn a heated glance into something more. All Clint could do was keep his mouth shut, pin on a grin and just flex his biceps whenever there was a pause in the conversation.

Bucky carried him back out of the quinjet and he immediately took flight, wings itching to power him somewhere far away from the threatened conversation.

“Hey!” called Bucky, and Clint couldn’t stop himself from wheeling around to circle him. Bucky looked up as he soared around. “I’m gonna go shower. Come knock on my door when you want to talk.”

He hesitated, then gave an awkward shrug. “Or don’t. If I got this wrong and you don’t want to, I won’t mention it again.”

His head did that dipping thing that shadowed his face behind his hair and, fuck, now Clint was going to have to go. No way was he going to let Bucky think that he was being rejected, or whatever.

He gave a cry that he hoped sounded affirmative, then ducked down through the door and headed for his room.

He shifted back as soon as he was inside, and then had a shower because, fuck, that dust had really got _everywhere_.

He pulled on sweatpants and an old hoodie when he got out of the bathroom, then stopped and reconsidered. Should he be trying to look less like a heap of garbage? He put on jeans and one of the few button down shirts he had, then stared at himself in the mirror. Now he looked like he was trying too hard. Jesus fuck, he was just going to chat with a guy he’d been living with for months, who he’d hung out with in all sorts of ancient clothes and, more than once, pyjamas.

Hell, during the heatwave in the summer he’d spent a week pretty much just in boxers. Just putting on pants was probably making an effort when he’d already set the bar so low.

He took off the shirt and pulled the hoodie back on, but left the jeans. They made his ass look great, and he needed all the confidence-boosting he could get.

“JARVIS, can you let Bucky know that I’m on my way down, and I’m swinging by the kitchen on the way?” he asked, running a hand through his hair and trying to push down his nerves. “Ask him if he wants coffee or beer?”

 _Or whiskey_ , he thought, but he figured letting on just how much liquid courage he wished he could down right now was probably a bad idea. Fuck, he really hated emotional conversations.

He could just try kissing him before either of them said anything, and see where that got them.

God, it was tempting, but he had a creeping feeling that he should be making sure Bucky got to vocalise his choices, after all the crap Hydra did to him, even if just kissing him would be so much easier than asking to kiss him.

“Sergeant Barnes has requested beer,” said JARVIS. “He implied he might need more than one.”

Excellent, so Clint wasn’t the only nervous guy in the Tower. That didn’t make him feel better at all.

He grabbed a six pack from the kitchen, then made himself go straight to Bucky’s room and knock on the door without hesitating or prevaricating. Seemed like he’d been putting this off long enough.

Bucky opened it and just stared at him for a moment, as if he hadn’t actually thought he was going to come, then he focused on the beer Clint was holding. “That might be the best plan you’ve ever had,” he said, standing back to let Clint in.

“Guess I’m not just a pretty face,” said Clint, stepping inside and wondering why it felt so different to be in Bucky’s space now. Electric anticipation was crackling over his skin, which was stupid. He wasn’t even sure Bucky actually wanted this yet, maybe he’d read the wrong hawk website and got the wrong end of the stick, or maybe he was about to tell Clint that he didn’t mind preening him, but doing anything else was off the cards. Maybe he was only attracted to birds, which would be weird as hell, but Clint could maybe-

Stop winding himself up and calm the fuck down already. He sat down on the sofa and dumped the six pack on the table, taking one and twisting the top off to hand to Bucky when he sat down as well. His hair was damp and curling slightly, which made Clint want to pet it.

Not that he needed much encouragement for that. He pretty much wanted to pet Bucky all the time, even when he wasn’t thinking with his hawk instincts.

“So,” said Bucky awkwardly as Clint opened a bottle for himself. “You, uh.” He made a twisted up face, then shook his head. “Fuck, I don’t know how to do this anymore,” he muttered.

“If it helps, I never did,” said Clint.

Bucky gave him a look. “That was kinda obvious when you only flirted with me when you were a hawk.”

Clint winced because, yeah, okay, he had been flirting with Bucky, he’d just thought he wouldn’t realise it. Fuck, he’d been taking advantage, like an asshole. He slumped back against the sofa. “You should be kicking my ass.”

Bucky snorted. “After watching a building fall on you? Yeah, might take a pass on that one.”

“It didn’t collapse on me,” said Clint. “I was already up in the air before that happened.” Well, almost. Bucky didn’t need to know how close it had been.

Bucky let out a very long breath. “I thought it had collapsed on you,” he said. He twitched his hair out of his face. “I thought you were dead,” he added, in a quieter voice. “Clint, that was- I don’t want to waste any more time with you flirting at me in bird, and me pretending not to get it because I haven’t figured out how to flirt back yet.”

Clint felt like every cell in his body was holding its breath. “You could try just skipping that bit and kissing me,” he said, with a very dry mouth.

Bucky stared at him for a second with dark eyes, then set his beer down on the table with a decisive thud. “Fuck it, it’s as good a plan as any other,” he said, then leaned in, just slowly enough for Clint to put his own bottle down, and kissed him.

It was careful and hesitant, right up until Clint gave in to everything he'd been wanting and sank his hands into Bucky's hair, pulling him in closer and deepening the kiss.

Bucky let out an actual growl and pushed him back against the sofa, draping his body over Clint's as the kiss turned almost feral.

Ah fuck, now Clint was hopelessly turned on. He kept one hand in Bucky's hair and wrapped the other arm around his waist, keeping him close so he could properly appreciate having the solid weight of it pressed against him, warm and perfect.

“Fuck,” muttered Bucky when Clint finally let him pull away. “Fuck, Clint. We shoulda done this ages ago.”

“Yeah,” agreed Clint, which was pretty much all he had breath for, and then pulled Bucky down into another kiss.

They didn't end up finishing their beers, although they didn't really do much more than making out either. If it could be called that when every kiss was as hot and heavy as if Bucky were already buried balls deep in Clint, and he completely covered Clint's body with his own in a way that was pretty damn impressive for a guy who was actually a couple of inches shorter.

It was unbelievably hot as well, especially when Clint slid his hand up under Bucky's shirt and Bucky made another of those tiny growls, deep in his throat.

“Fuck,” he muttered, flattening his palm against the small of Bucky's back to feel his skin.

Bucky pulled away and Clint could see uncertainty in his eyes.

“That was the good kinda ‘fuck’,” he said quickly. “It's hot as hell. _You're_ hot as hell, wolf flirting included.” And then he wanted to kick himself as Bucky flinched back. Only a tiny bit, but more than enough to be obvious when they were pressed this close. “Sorry, sorry, shouldn't have mentioned it, don't go,” he added in a bit of a babble, holding Bucky tighter.

Bucky only hesitated for a split-second before relaxing back against him. “It's okay. I shoulda guessed from all the petting that animal instincts were going to be a part of this.”

Clint grinned at him, running a hand through his hair, which made Bucky's eyes go relaxed and half-lidded. “I don't see how that's a problem.”

“I guess being a shifter did save your life today,” said Bucky, pressing his head into Clint's hand as he gently scratched over his scalp.

“Not just today,” said Clint. “Loads of times when I was a kid, and at the circus, not to mention all the missions I've shifted on. At least three times in Budapest alone, but then that was a clusterfuck from start to finish.”

Bucky snorted. “If half the stuff you and Nat claim happened in Budapest actually happened, the place wouldn't still be standing.”

Clint just grinned, because technically that mission was still classified, so he couldn't tell Bucky all about it. One day.

Bucky let out a quiet sigh and pressed a soft kiss to Clint's lips, then pulled away to sit back on the couch. “So, I guess we're doing this.”

Clint stretched and sat up a bit, feeling the bone-deep satisfaction of a long make out session. “Seems like it,” he said, reaching for his beer, which was warm and flat.

“Want to go out for dinner tomorrow night then?” For some reason Bucky looked tense, as if he hadn't caught on from all the kissing that there wasn't a chance in hell of Clint saying no.

“Definitely, “ said Clint, and won himself one of Bucky's blinding smiles.

****

Bucky wined and dined Clint in style the next night, which made Clint a bit nervous, because surely he knew Clint wasn’t worth all that effort, and didn’t need it either, because he’d be happy with dumpster pizza if he got to share it with Bucky.

Bucky took his hand and gave him a quiet smile on the walk back to the Tower, and Clint figured it didn’t matter what he was worth, as long as what they were doing was making Bucky happy.

The next team movie night was Bucky’s pick, and he went for Errol Flynn’s _Robin Hood_ , which was a pretty solid declaration of his feelings as far as Clint was concerned. It only got better when Bucky leaned over halfway through and murmured, “This guy used to be my favourite archer. You blow him out of the water, though.”

Clint couldn’t keep from grinning to himself, and pulling Bucky in with an arm around his shoulders so that they were nestled together. Bucky slung an arm around his waist and gently stroked the tips of his fingers over Clint’s skin for the rest of the movie, which was distracting as hell in all the best ways.

The next couple of weeks just flew by in a haze of making out at the range, lazy mornings of sleepy sex in Clint’s bed, and the bittersweet feeling of knowing this couldn’t last but being perfectly happy to go along for the ride until the usual pattern of Clint’s relationships kicked in and it all turned to shit.

No matter how blissfully relaxed they got though, no matter how hard Clint worked to wear Bucky out and then curled up around him in a sweat-stained haze of post-orgasmic pleasure, Bucky never quite managed to fully relax. It could be that after all the shit Hydra put him through, he was never going to be able to fully let go again, but Clint had a feeling it was more immediate than that. It must have been nearly a year since he last shifted, there was no way his wolf side wasn’t crying out to be let free.

There was nothing Clint could do about that though, and he’d promised not to talk about it, so instead he just held Bucky closer, just pressed more kisses against his skin, and wondered how the hell they could fix this.

Because it needed to be fixed. Bucky couldn’t spend the rest of his life not shifting, not and remain sane.

****

It was Tony’s pick for movie night, which meant they were watching some deeply complicated sci-fi movie that Clint had lost track of twenty minutes in, which was about the same time that Bucky pulled him into his body and started making out with him.

It took another ten minutes for Tony to comment, which showed admirable restraint.

“Jesus, do you guys have to do that every movie night?” asked Tony. “I mean, it was bad enough with those two,” he waved at Steve and Sam, who were sat together but at least pretending to care about whatever the astronaut on screen was up to, “but I didn’t figure that this pack bonding thing would lead to unending PDAs.”

Bucky pulled away from Clint’s lips. “Pack bonding?” he repeated, and Clint felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

“If you don’t like the PDAs, maybe we should just stop having these nights,” said Natasha, clearly trying to distract the conversation, but it was too late. Bucky was already frowning around the room.

“What pack bonding thing?”

There was a telling silence and his frown deepened. He glanced at Clint, who felt frozen in place, then clearly gave up on him and glared over at Steve instead. “Steve.”

Steve let out a long, slow breath. “It’s nothing, Buck. Just, we figured you might settle in better here if we made you feel at home and appeal to your natural instincts.”

Bucky pulled all the way away from Clint. “My natural instincts,” he repeated, slowly. “You mean, after all I said about not wanting anything to do with my shift any more, you deliberately used it against me.”

“No,” said Clint, sitting up. “No, not like that, Bucky-”

“What kinda stuff?” asked Bucky, cutting him off. “C’mon, what the fuck do you think my fucking _natural instincts_ are? Let me guess, all the petting and cuddling and stuff? Pack stuff?” he glared around the room, but his eyes came back to Clint and, fuck, he looked so _betrayed_ under his anger. “And you were all in on it.”

Clint reached out for him, and he pulled back, getting up off the sofa so he could be out of reach. “Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t even fucking think about it.” He took two steps backwards, glaring around at the rest of the team. “You’re all assholes.”

He strode out of the room, hands clenched into fists, and Clint felt his heart break. It was far too early for him to lose this.

“You’re an absolute idiot,” Natasha said to Tony.

“Sorry, sorry,” said Tony. “I kinda forgot he wasn’t in on the snugglefest.”

Steve stood up. “I’ll go talk to him,” he said. “I’ll make it clear we were just trying to help.”

“No,” said Clint, standing up. “I’ll do it.” Steve frowned at him and Clint took a deep breath. “It was my idea,” he pointed out. And he was the only other natural shifter on the team. He was the only one who knew what it must be taking for Bucky to bury this part of himself so far down. He’d probably wrecked their relationship beyond repair already, he might as well take this chance to actually talk to Bucky about it, somehow get him to see that pretending he wasn’t a shifter wasn’t fighting against what Hydra had made him do, it was fighting against himself.

****

When he knocked on Bucky’s door, there was a pause, then Bucky yelled, “Fuck off, Steve!” through it.

“It’s not Steve!” Clint called back, and there was a telling silence. “C’mon, Bucky, let me in so I can explain?”

The door was wrenched open so violently that Clint flinched back. “What the fuck is there to explain?” asked Bucky. “You all decided to use the one thing I wanted to be shot of against me.”

Bucky actually wanted to be shot of being a shifter? Fuck, this was more of a mess than Clint had thought. 

“Not _against_ you,” said Clint. “Look, it was my idea, don’t go blaming anyone else for it. They don’t really know, after all. Not even the other shifters; being enhanced is nothing like being born to it. You must have figured that by now.”

“Your idea,” repeated Bucky and, fuck, yeah, that was just layers of betrayal in his voice. Clint really had fucked this one up impressively badly. “Fuck, Clint. I figured you got this.”

Clint snorted. “You’re kidding, right? I’m never going to understand why you wouldn’t want to be who you truly are.”

Bucky flinched back. “That’s not who I am,” he growled.

Clint sighed and rubbed at the back of his head. “Look, can I come in?” he asked. “Just to talk, and then I’ll fuck off and get out of your hair.”

It took Bucky a couple of seconds to relent and open the door for Clint, who sidled inside. Bucky shut the door behind him, then crossed his arms as he stared at Clint. “Go ahead, then,” he said. “Tell me what the fuck you thought you were doing.”

“Okay,” said Clint, then paused as he tried to find the words. “Okay, so, listen. My dad hated me being a shifter. He used to beat me if he found out I’d been a hawk, so I used to try and go as long as I could without shifting. The longest I ever managed was about two weeks, and it felt like I was being squashed down in a box and suffocated. You know what I mean, right?”

Bucky gave a reluctant nod. “Your dad was an asshole,” he said, which hadn’t been the point of Clint telling him that, but it wasn’t as if he were wrong.

“Yeah,” agreed Clint. “Guess it runs in the family,” he added, with a weak grin that Bucky didn’t return. Okay, great, he’d just keep going, then. “So when I found out you weren’t shifting, and you were a natural so it would feel like that for you, well. I guess all I wanted was to work out if there was some way to make it better for you. Climbing trees and getting up high and shit like that always used to make me feel better when I couldn’t shift, so I thought maybe doing pack stuff would help you.”

Bucky’s scowl had dimmed, but he didn’t change his posture. “You didn’t think to ask first, to see if I actually wanted that?”

Clint shrugged. “You hate talking about it,” he said, helplessly.

“And yet, here we are. Fucking talking about it,” muttered Bucky.

“Yeah, sorry,” said Clint. “But, look, how about we just get this all out now, and then, I swear, I’ll fuck off and we don’t ever need to talk about it again. I’ll move out the Tower if you want, keep out of your way.”

Bucky shook his head. “No, don’t- Clint.” He let out a sigh and his whole body slumped. He pushed his hair away from his face with one hand, then walked over to collapse into an armchair. “I hate this shit,” he said. “I really just- I fucking hate it. I hate how Hydra fucked me over so much that just thinking about it makes me want to claw my head open so I can rip parts of my brain out.”

“Fuck, Bucky,” said Clint. He wanted, more than anything, to go over and wrap him up in a hug, but he was pretty sure that was the last thing Bucky wanted right now. He probably never wanted Clint to touch him again, which was something Clint was going to have to curl up and mourn later.

“You know what happened every time someone did something that made my wolf instincts perk up and think _pack_?” said Bucky, staring down at the carpet rather than meeting Clint’s eyes. “I’d think about how much I wanted to shift so I could be a true wolf in the middle of his pack, and then I’d remember just what happened the last time I shifted, and the time before that, and- and every time I’ve shifted since 1941.” 

He let out a long breath, and his jaw tightened. “See, Hydra didn’t have any use for a wolf, not really. A human is more useful as an assassin, for all the stealth stuff, getting past doors and locks and using a sniper rifle, all the shit they used me for. But sometimes, they wanted to send a message. They wanted to make sure someone died bloody, as a warning or a message or whatever. So they’d have me shift and rip their throat out with my teeth.” 

He looked up at Clint with the hurt, lost look that talking about Hydra always put on his face, and that made Clint want to go and tear every Hydra agent he could find apart with his bare hands. 

“Those were the only times they ever allowed me to shift. A handful of times over seventy years. So when you talk about not being able to go more than a week or two, and don’t get how I’m managing without it now, that’s why. I’ve been without it for decades, and they made it so shifting was only about killing. That’s why I don’t want anything to do with it anymore.”

Fuck, Clint had fucked up even more than he realised. “Guns are only about killing,” he said, carefully, “and you still shoot.”

Bucky shook his head. “That's different, guns have always only been about killing. Being a wolf is who I am, and they made it just another weapon.”

“So you should take it back,” said Clint, but Bucky was already shaking his head. “No, listen, Bucky. It doesn’t have to be _for_ anything. Not for killing, or for being part of the pack, or anything. You should try just being a wolf, and remember how it was to be that part of yourself just for the joy of it. Do it on your own, lock the door if you want to, but don’t let them take this away from you.”

Bucky was very still for a moment, then he slowly shook his head. “It’s too late,” he said, and it sound like he was about to cry. “It’s all too late. They already took it from me.”

“I don’t believe that,” said Clint. Bucky looked up at him with a weak glare.

“You don’t get to decide that for me,” he said, and yeah, okay, enough people had made decisions about who Bucky was. Clint had to let this go.

It was easier said than done. He clenched his hands into fists and made himself say, “Okay. It’s your choice but, Bucky. It is a choice.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t- Clint.” He tightened his jaw, and then his fists, curling over as if he’d been punched in the gut. “Clint, this is a fucking minefield I don’t want you wandering around in.”

It had been months since the last time Bucky had ended a conversation with that code, and yet here Clint was, bringing it all back. Fuck, no wonder his relationships always crumbled. 

“Okay,” he said, and forced himself to step back to the door. “I’m gonna go, but please don’t blame the others for this. This was all on me.”

Bucky nodded but didn’t say anything, or even look up as Clint left the room, shutting the door behind himself.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was the worst.

****

The next couple of weeks were horrible. Clint did his best to avoid Bucky, which made him realise just how much of the day they’d got into the habit of spending together. He tried to compensate by hanging out more with Natasha, but he could tell she was humouring him on how much sparring he had decided they needed to be doing, and he only had so much time before she got fed up and found a reason to take a mission on the other side of the world just so she could get some peace and quiet.

What he really wanted was to spend a few days as a hawk, because things always seemed simpler and easier to handle when he was like that, but shifting around Bucky seemed like a dick move right now. He didn’t want him to feel like Clint was trying to make a point, after all. So he kept shifting for when he was in his room, or when he and Sam were messing about in the thermals above Manhattan and claiming it counted as training.

Clint managed to avoid the first movie night, but any more than that and Tony would hunt him down and just drag him to the lounge, so the second week he found a seat out of the way and tried to pretend he wasn’t staring at the side of Bucky’s face for the entire movie.

Bucky looked even more uncomfortable than Clint felt. He curled up in the corner of the sofa and flinched any time anyone came close, then vanished the moment the credits started. Clint slumped even further down in his own seat and wondered how he’d managed to undo months of Bucky slowly becoming part of the team so completely.

“Okay,” said Tony, looking after where Bucky had vanished. “So, that’s a thing.” He looked around at the others. “Any ideas on how to fix it?”

Steve let out a sigh. “Give him time,” he suggested.

Clint privately thought it was going to take a lot more than that, but he’d made very sure that it was none of his business any more, so he kept quiet and took himself off to his room, to lie in bed, stare at the ceiling, and think about how much more fun insomnia had been when Bucky had been in bed with him.

****

The next morning, he walked into the range to find Bucky already there. He paused in the doorway, too tired after a sleepless night to do more than blink stupidly for a moment before his brain kicked in and told him to go away and come back later.

He turned to go, but Bucky stopped him. “Clint, don’t- you can be in the same room as me.”

Clint turned back at the slightly pathetic note in his voice. “I figured you wouldn’t want me around,” he said. “You’re mad at me.”

Bucky shrugged. “Yeah,” he agreed, “but not so mad I can’t see that you thought you were helping.”

Clint allowed himself to walk closer, taking in all the signs that Bucky had had his own sleepless night in the shadows under his eyes and the lank way his hair fell. “It was stupid,” he said. “I shoulda talked to you about it rather than just assumed I knew what you wanted.”

“Yeah,” agreed Bucky, then shrugged. “Being a shifter means a lot to you. You weren’t to know that it’s pretty much the opposite for me.” He glanced down at the gun in his hands while Clint was biting his tongue to stop himself pointing out all the ways that that was bullshit. “I don’t- Clint.” He took a deep breath, hands clenching on the gun. “I really like you. I liked what we had. But I don’t know that it’s a good idea for us to have it when you’re not going to be able to understand why I feel like I do about my shift.”

Clint had all but given up on their relationship, but somehow that still felt like a knife in the heart. He managed a nod of agreement, but couldn’t stop himself saying, “If you ever change your mind, about me or your shift…”

Bucky managed a tiny smile. “You’ll be the first person I call,” he promised, and Clint nodded again, somewhat dumbly.

Bucky looked at his gun again, then turned away from the range. “I think I’m done shooting now,” he said, going to put it in a locker. “The place is all yours.”

“Thanks,” said Clint, numbly, feeling sick to his stomach as Bucky just gave him a tight nod before he left.

Fuck, that hurt. 

He pulled his bow out of his locker and set up a target, but he already knew it was going to take a lot more than a few hours shooting to push this pain away.

****

The Thursday after that, he was already sat with a bowl of popcorn when Natasha walked into the lounge in her cat form. Clint stared at her as she walked over and jumped up next to him, then batted imperiously at the bowl until he moved it so she could settle in his lap.

“Is something up?” he asked, because he couldn’t think of a single reason why Natasha would choose to be this kind of affectionate with him, not now that they’d all dialed back on the habits they’d slipped into in the name of pack bonding.

The ones that Clint found himself missing now, but he wasn’t about to admit that to anyone.

Natasha ignored him, setting her chin on her paws so she could see the TV screen.

It took less than ten seconds before Clint found himself stroking her, letting the smooth fur slide through his fingers. He really had missed this. Maybe she’d realised that in her creepy mind-reading way, and was trying to cheer him up from the funk he’d been in since the conversation at the range with Bucky.

Except Natasha’s usual reaction to him being in a funk was to smack him around the head and take him to the gym to spar until every part of his body ached and he couldn’t remember why he was upset to start with.

“Oh hey, are we doing movie night snuggles again?” asked Sam. He glanced at Steve and quirked an eyebrow. “How about it?”

Steve rolled his eyes, then glanced at the door. “Not sure Bucky would be happy with that.”

“Bucky’s not the one dating you,” Sam pointed out, but he didn’t push any further.

Steve was proved right two minutes later, when Bucky walked in, took one look at Clint and Natasha, and stopped dead. He pressed his lips together and just stared for a moment, then Natasha lifted her head and turned to stare back. Clint couldn’t see what kind of cat expression she’d managed, but whatever it was was enough to make Bucky’s stare turn into a glare, then he turned on his heel and disappeared again.

“Jesus, Natasha, did you have to?” asked Steve, standing up to head after him.

JARVIS interrupted before he’d left the room. “Sergeant Barnes has asked me to convey his apologies that he won’t be joining you this evening. He also said ‘Steve, if you follow me and ask if I want to talk while giving me that damn puppy look, I’m gonna punch you’.”

Clint started sniggering, because it wasn’t quite the same in JARVIS’s precise tones but he could hear Bucky saying that so clearly, and it was pretty obvious Steve could as well, because he huffed and then sat back down. “Tell him he’s a punk,” he muttered.

Sam leaned into him to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re pretty adorable sometimes, you know that?”

Clint looked away, hoping the envy eating him up wasn’t obvious on his face. He missed having that with Bucky. 

He escaped from the lounge the moment the movie was over, gently shoving Natasha off his lap and ignoring her huff of indignation. He went back to his room, then wondered what he’d been in such a rush for when what he really wanted was to go and find Bucky.

That was off the cards, though. He needed to somehow work out how to let all the hopes he’d had for being with Bucky go. He’d always known it wasn’t going to last, how the hell had he built up so many?

Fuck, but he’d _wanted_ it to last. For all he’d tried to prepare himself for the inevitable end, he’d been unable to keep the idea of spending his life with Bucky, shooting bad guys and pissing Tony off and maybe getting a farm together when it came time for retiring from the superhero game.

Instead, he was going to be alone. Just like he’d always figured he would be.

****

He didn’t sleep that night. Instead, he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling as his mind ran back over every single fuck up he’d ever made, detailing all the relationships and friendships he’d managed to destroy over the years just by being himself.

He hated it when his brain did this to him. How was it that even after years, decades, of being kept awake in the dark hours of the night by bitter self-hatred, he still hadn’t worked out how to shut it down so he could get some sleep already?

“Agent Barton,” said JARVIS, quietly enough not to startle Clint, but clearly aware he was still awake. “Sergeant Barnes has asked me to pass on a message.”

Aw, fuck, what now?

“Go ahead,” said Clint, thinking that it might be time to admit defeat and go hide in the range instead of wasting time lying in bed.

“He asked me to tell you that you were right,” said JARVIS.

Clint sat up. “What? About what?” 

There was a long pause, then JARVIS said, “He asked that you go to his room.”

Clint scrambled out of bed even faster than he did when there was an Avengers call out, without bothering to throw on any more clothes than the boxers he’d been sleeping in. No one ever said Clint was right about something unless things had got really fucked up. If Bucky was having some middle-of-the-night meltdown, then Clint needed to be there. Even if history showed he'd probably only make it worse.

When he got to Bucky's room, JARVIS opened the door before he could knock. He stepped inside, calling, “Bucky?” then stopped dead.

There was a large grey wolf crouched on the couch, glaring at him with teeth bared. His front left leg was made out of metal plates. 

“Oh,” said Clint, and then, because he was a dumbass with no sense of preservation in the face of an apex predator, “you're beautiful.”

Bucky relaxed back from his about-to-pounce pose, and as the snarl faded from his face, Clint realised it had been covering his uncertainty. 

Clint let the door shut behind him. “Thanks for letting me in to see you like this,” he added.

Bucky made a dismissive huffing noise, as if it were no big deal to let someone he was still mad at in when he was clearly feeling vulnerable. He jumped down off the couch and padded over to Clint, who automatically dropped into a crouch to greet him. 

“Hey,” he said. “Can I touch you?”

Bucky moved forward until his nose was pressed against Clint's neck, soft fur sliding over his skin, which felt like a pretty solid yes. Clint carefully reached up to sink his fingers into the fur at the back of Bucky’s neck and then, when that failed to prompt any violence, ran his hand down his spine, and then back up to his ears. Bucky let out a quiet breath, hot against Clint’s neck, and then moved in closer until he was pressed against Clint’s chest, fur brushing against his bare skin.

Clint felt his breath catch at the display of trust, but didn’t let his hands falter as they stroked over Bucky’s fur. “I’m so glad you were able to get this back,” he said, instead of letting out all the emotions bottled up in his chest, because Bucky was probably dealing with enough without Clint adding his feelings to the mix.

Bucky made a soft whine of agreement, then pulled away from Clint. He fixed him with a look, then padded over to the sofa and hopped back up, then stared at Clint again, jerking his head in an annoyed gesture when Clint didn’t move.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” said Clint, standing up and heading over to the couch. He sat down, and Bucky immediately climbed into his lap. Or tried to, he was a bit too large for it, but he clearly wasn’t going to let that stop him.

Clint scratched at his neck, then stroked down over his flanks. “And you mocked me for how much I love being preened,” he said, amused.

Bucky gave him a very not-amused look, then pushed at him with his nose until Clint lay down, flat on his back with Bucky lying on top of him, too heavy and almost too warm. Clint grinned at him, and kept stroking as Bucky laid his head down on Clint’s shoulder, making a quietly contented noise in his throat.

“I’m really hoping you’ll tell me what changed your mind, once you’re back with human vocal cords,” he said, quietly. Bucky just let out a sigh, pressing his nose closer into Clint’s neck.

Clint fell asleep like that, nodding off so much faster than he would have guessed given how elusive sleep had been since everything had crumbled down, not to mention the heavy weight of the wolf on top of him. Somehow, that felt reassuring rather than confining. Bucky was there, right there and with him, and he wasn’t stifling half of who he was. Clint couldn’t feel a single ounce of tension in Bucky’s body as he kept one hand slowly petting him, eyelids drooping and then falling shut.

****

When he woke up, he still had a hundred and fifty pound wolf sprawled over him. He was slightly too hot anywhere Bucky was on top of him, and slightly too cold anywhere his bare skin was meeting the air, and he could feel a suspicious dampness on his shoulder that made him think Bucky had drooled in his sleep.

It was possibly the best morning he could ever remember.

He reached up to stroke over Bucky’s ears, then hesitated when he considered that waking up a PTSD-ridden wolf whose teeth were only inches from his neck should maybe be handled very delicately.

“Hey, Bucky,” he asked, quietly. “Are you awake?”

Bucky lifted his head and looked down at him with a steady gaze that made Clint think he’d been awake for a while. Clint grinned at him and finally let himself stroke him. “Morning.”

Bucky opened his mouth in a wolfy smile, then pulled away, standing up and moving back to the end of the sofa so that when he turned back to human, he was crouched down against the opposite arm. As he shifted, the plates of his metal front leg moved, unfolding and clicking into new positions until it was an arm instead of a paw. Clint would have been impressed by the technology behind that, and he knew that if Tony ever saw it, he’d wet his pants with glee, but Clint was far too focused on just how naked Bucky was as a human.

He took a moment to really enjoy that, before looking at Bucky’s face. “How are you feeling?”

Bucky shrugged. “Kinda like an idiot,” he said. “I shoulda done that months ago.”

Clint sat up, rubbing at his hair and hoping it didn’t look as stupid as it felt. “These things take time,” he said, rather than straight up agreeing.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Don’t act like you aren’t brimming over with ‘I told you so’ right now.”

“I mean, a bit,” admitted Clint, “but given how often other people say that to me, I don’t think I’ve got much right to be saying it.” He hesitated, but he was brimming with curiosity and couldn’t keep it in. “What changed your mind?”

“Natasha,” said Bucky and huffed out an amused breath, then rubbed a hand over his face. “I know she’s not meant to be super-powered, but have you ever considered that she’s got some kinda always-being-right power?”

“Yes,” said Clint immediately. “Loads of times.”

“She kinda cornered me yesterday and, well,” Bucky trailed off then shrugged. “We had a talk. She told me some stuff from when she first left the Red Room that I don’t know she’d want me repeating, and then told me I was being an idiot for not letting myself have every part of myself back.” He shrugged. “Which was pretty much what you told me, and Steve. But she also pointed out how many things I was missing out on, with you and with the team, and then when I saw you and her last night, all I could think about was how much I wanted to be the one curled up in your lap.”

“You’re a bit big for that,” said Clint, “but I’m more than willing to give it a try.” He held out his arms and gave Bucky an eyebrow waggle so that he could play it off as a joke in case he was getting the wrong signals from last night’s cuddle fest, and Bucky didn’t actually want to get back together.

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he did move into Clint’s lap, straddling his thighs and wrapping his arms around him in a way that just pressed all their skin together and made it very clear that the only clothing they had between them was Clint’s boxers.

A shiver of glee ran down Clint’s spine as he realised that he was going to get another shot at this, and he pressed a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “I can’t count the number of times Natasha’s made me realise I’m being an idiot, even after everyone else has tried and failed.”

Bucky let out a quiet sigh. “Yeah, well. I still wasn’t convinced on it, but I figured I’d lock myself in here, shift, and then next time someone tried to call me out on it, I could tell them I tried it and it hadn’t gone well, and then maybe you’d all finally leave me alone about it.”

Clint laughed. “Not exactly what happened, right?”

“No,” said Bucky. “I’d forgotten how it feels like you’ve relaxed down into a truer version of yourself. All the times with Hydra, it never felt like that.” He considered for a moment. “I guess because I wasn’t any version of myself, whether I was wolf or human.”

“Now you can be,” said Clint. He sank his hand into Bucky’s hair, angling his head so that he could look into his eyes. “You can be exactly who you are, Bucky, you just need to let yourself have it.”

Bucky stared back for a breathless moment, face so close to Clint’s that he could see every shade of blue in his eyes. “Right now, I’m the guy who wants to make out with you.”

Clint grinned. “We can make that happen,” he said, and moved the tiny distance to press a kiss to Bucky’s lips.

“And later, I’ll be the wolf who wants to go running in those woods you and the others always disappear off to,” said Bucky against his lips.

“We can do that as well,” said Clint, and then Bucky was kissing him properly, and he lost track of all thought outside the touch of his lips and the press of his skin for a while.

****

Bucky was out of his clothes and shifted before Clint had finished landing the jet, hovering by the door and twitching with anticipation. Steve waited until Clint had pulled off his shirt and pants before opening the door for the team, which was probably a good shout because the moment it was open, Bucky was off like a shot, sprinting out into the woods.

Clint left the others to lock the quinjet behind them, or be the ones who had to explain to Tony that they’d got a quinjet stolen, and immediately shifted and soared up above the woods, following the fast moving shadow of Bucky on the ground. He couldn’t fly quite as fast as Bucky could run, and for a moment he thought he was going to get left behind, then Bucky glanced up at him and his pace slowed slightly. Not by much, but just enough for Clint to catch up and be able to fly over his head as he ducked through the trees.

Which also meant that, as soon as they hit a clearing, Clint was close enough to go into a dive, wings pulled back as he plummeted down to Bucky, grazing over his back with his talons to prove how close he could get before pulling up.

Bucky turned to snap his jaws at him, then fell to the ground as if Clint had hurt him, rolling onto his back and grinning up at Clint with his tongue lolling. Clint swooped down again, clutching at Bucky’s metal paw with his talons and settling.

Bucky was huffing out deep breaths and his face was lit up with joy, and Clint couldn’t keep from letting out a cry of excitement at just how happy he looked. Bucky’s tongue lolled out in laughter, then he was rolling over and Clint needed to take to the air again as his perch disappeared.

Steve had caught up by then, throwing himself at Bucky and wrestling him to the ground again, tumbling across the grass. Sam dove past Clint on his way to join in, but veered off at the last minute as Natasha streaked across the clearing and pounced for him, and Clint couldn’t stop himself from letting out an amused shriek that got him a glare from Sam.

The action distracted Steve enough for Bucky to roll out from under him and take off again, loping through the woods at a slower pace as the others followed after him. He looked so relaxed and settled in his skin, and a pure burst of love filled Clint up. Fuck, he was going to do everything he could to make sure Bucky got to keep this. And that he got to keep Bucky.

Afterwards, on the quinjet as Sam flew them home, Bucky curled up against Clint in his human shape, eyes half-shut as Clint stroked through his hair, with every single muscle in his body relaxed and blissed out.

“I think I’m gonna ask Tony to get me that dog bed,” said Bucky in a mumble.

“Yeah?” asked Clint.

“Yeah,” agreed Bucky. He opened his eyes enough to send a darkly amused look at Clint. “It’ll give the others somewhere to sit when we completely take over one of the sofas.”

Clint snorted. “That sounds pretty perfect,” he said, as Bucky’s eyes fell shut again, a happy smile playing over his lips.


End file.
